ied, like a worn-out horse, that labors on in the noblest of
emprises without glory and without reward, and finally leaves its bones
on the wayside to be picked white by buzzard and crow.

CHAPTER VII

THE NAMING OF THE BOAT

Some days later, _tio_ Mariano handed Pascualo the tidy sum of twelve
thousand _reales_, the captain's share in the proceeds of the venture.
But money was the least of the Rector's earnings. He had established
himself now solidly in his uncle's grace, for the old man, with very
slight risk to his own hide, had cleaned up twice that amount. Besides,
the moment the whole story had gone the rounds, Pascualo became the lion
of the Valencian water-front. A stroke of genius, that break from the
Columbretas in a full gale! The cutter put in there at the height of the
storm--and that was no child's play either--but she had her trouble for
her pains!

The Rector stood quite aghast at his own good fortune. Adding the
profits on the "moonshine" to the pile of money that, dollar by dollar,
he and Dolores had stowed away in the place they only knew, you got a
figure with which any honest man could start "something." And this
"something" must of course have to do with the sea; for Pascualo was not
the man to sit around in an easy chair, like his uncle, and skin poor
people on shore alive! Smuggling, meanwhile, as a regular thing, was out
of the question. That's a thing a young fellow ought to do once, to get
his hand in; just as he ought to gamble--for once--since fortune is
likely to favor the beginner. But it doesn't pay to flout the devil, in
the long run. For a man like the Rector, fishing was the only certain
trade, but in his own boat, with nothing lost to outfitters, who sit
quietly at home and skim the cream of every catch.

There were many sleepless nights for the sturdy sailor, who kept rolling
over and over between the sheets and waking Dolores up to get her
opinion on each new idea. At last he made up his mind. His capital must
go into a boat, not an ordinary boat, you understand, but the very best,
if that were possible, of all the craft that ever set sail from the
beach in front of the ox-barn there. His day had come at last, _rediel!_
No more deck-hand business for him, and no more of this going halves. He
would own a vessel, and the pole he would plant in front of the house,
to carry the nets when drying, would be the tallest in the neighborhood!

And that hull on the ways there, la